II. Two Reasons Wine and Sleep Can't Breed

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(Molto Adagio)

Freely and esoterically, prosaically and pedantically. Lying beneath
the willow, one shooter wallows without mercy.

A drip of hatred inches forth from the toenail of the delta. A
blue-green mugginess separates four from five. No motion allowed.

Places for life, graces for spies - only dreaming contests subsist
in this humid cinema drone. All-alone inseminates the idyll: ideal idea.

A pagan paean to the pan of pains penned in a book of distrust, and entrusted
to a race of glass. Where have we come?

A ream of rerouted roosters referred the Reachmaster to a secret spring,
already altrical and outdated. This is not laziness. This is tragedy.

Our shooter, future Reachmaster, exasperated drydreamer criticizes
the Mug: freely and esoterically. Only the sand listens: prosaically
and pedantically.

"You need not drink from sky or tree. You need only sleep, and think on me."

Lou freed spot think gum eye for knee? Glue breed lonely keep,
sand sink gone free?

"...you need not drink from sky or tree....you need only sleep, and think on me..."

Few seed got link dumb lie you're free. Sue greed pony seep, brand
mink funny.


green, pink, blue, green...

"you need me"

To breed free





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